


What You Leave Behind

by Thistlerose



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Missing Scene, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter tries, one last time.  Set during "The Last Battle."  Written in 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Leave Behind

On the last day of his life, Peter Pevensie woke to birdsong and the scent of lavender and thyme coming through the open window, from his mother's garden. Without glancing at the clock, he knew that it was very early. He knew also that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep and didn't mind, even though he'd been dreaming about Narnia. He couldn't remember much about the dream. There might have been a clear, cold mountain stream and a patch of wild strawberries. He was fairly certain a bird had been trying to tell him something, and that it had been a hawk – like the ones with whom he'd hunted, when he'd been a king.

Peter rose and went to see if his brother was awake. He rapped softly on Edmund's bedroom door, then opened it a crack. "Ed?" he whispered, and was answered with a loud snore. Smiling, Peter closed the door, then went to the kitchen to fix himself some toast and eggs.

Barely half an hour later, he found himself bathed and dressed, and on his way to the train station, where he was to meet Eustace, Jill, and the rest. He'd left a note for his parents, letting them know where he'd gone, and asking them to give Edmund a ride later.

The station was a few kilometers away, and ordinarily he'd have taken the bus or a bicycle, but that morning he wanted to walk, and he had the time. The sky was cornflower blue, wisped with creamy pink clouds. He could smell bread baking, and car exhaust. There were seagulls in the air and on the ground, drinking from puddles, squabbling over crumbs. Peter listened to their honking, thinking that if he could just make himself listen _right_ , he'd hear words. It was a thought that had come to him often since his last return from Narnia, and he'd been shy about it until Lucy had confessed, without any prompting, that she sometimes thought the same thing.

Lucy had been in his dream, he remembered suddenly. It was she who'd discovered the strawberries. There'd been sunlight on her golden hair and merry laughter in her eyes.

Unconsciously, Peter's right hand went to his coat pocket, where Professor Kirke's magic rings lay, wrapped in a handkerchief. Disguised as workmen, he and Edmund had unearthed them last night; Eustace and Jill would use them to get to Narnia, so they could help the young man who'd appeared to all of them that night in the Professor's cottage.

The rings clinked softly as Peter closed his fist around them. They were cold through the handkerchief, just like ordinary rings that had never traveled or taken anyone to other worlds. _What if,_ Peter began to wonder, then stopped. Across the street, a cab had come to a halt, and a girl had gotten out.

He hadn't seen her in more than a year; he'd been so busy with his studies, and she'd gotten a flat with a few friends from school. She'd lost some weight since the last time he'd seen her, her black hair was styled differently, and she was wearing one of those wide-brimmed hats that were currently popular, that hid her eyes as she lowered her head to inspect something on her skirt. Nevertheless, Peter recognized his sister Susan.

He waved, but she didn't look up. He called her name, but she didn't seem to hear. So, he dashed across the street, heedless of the traffic, caught her arm and wheeled her about. She stumbled – her heels were ridiculously high – and gave a little screech of surprise.

"Su," said Peter, trying to steady her. "It's me."

"Peter – good lord. You scared me half to death. What _ever_ are you--?"

"I ought to ask you the same question," Peter said somberly, noticing, for the first time, the fact that her dress was rumpled, her skin waxy, and her breath faintly sour.

"Oh, _don't_ give me that priggish tone. Or that look. Mavis Dunham had a party last night. I lost track of the time and missed the last bus home, so I stayed the night. That's all."

"Is it?"

"Peter, I'm twenty-one years old, and you're not my father. _Do_ let go. I want to go home and change my clothes. My head hurts."

Too much cheap champagne, Peter thought. Too many sweets. Too little sleep. He tried to feel contempt, but it wouldn't come. He remembered Susan as a twenty-one year-old queen, dancing barefoot round a fountain in the middle of a courtyard, a goblet of spiced wine in one hand, her dark hair falling past her waist, while fauns played their pipes and the moon shimmered both overhead and in the water of the fountain.

"Come with me," Peter said.

"Where?" said Susan.

"To the train station. I was going to walk, but we can take a cab if you like. Ed will join us. We're meeting Lucy and Eustace and—"

Susan was shaking her head. "Oh, not Edmund. You know how impossible he is. If he saw me looking like this, he'd – well, you know how he gets. Sometimes I think he thinks he's still a—"

She stopped herself and looked away.

"What?" said Peter sharply. He shook her arm. "Come on, Su. What were you going to say? Sometimes he thinks he's still a _what_?"

Susan yanked her arm free. "I was _going_ to say that Edmund still _plays_ at being a king. Like he did when we were children."

Something in Peter's heart began to close slowly.

"I'm not saying it wasn't a lot of fun," Susan went on, "but we've all got to grow up sometime. Even Lucy. She can be even more tiresome than Ed when it comes to – those childhood games."

"Come with me," Peter said again, ignoring the hinges that creaked in his ears. He tried to stand taller, to meet her gaze and hold it, the way Aslan had instructed him shortly before his coronation, when he'd been full of secret doubt. He'd quelled a giant rebellion once, by looking at its instigator in such a way. He'd negotiated peace with Calormene ambassadors.

"I'm tired," Susan said. "I don't want to see Edmund or Lucy or Eustace. Not before I've changed and had some sleep. Maybe tomorrow."

The air rushed out of Peter's lungs. His shoulders sank. "Come with me," he entreated for the third and final time.

"No," said Susan. "No, not today. Not wearing the same dress I wore last night. I'm tired. I have to get home. I've no time, Peter, not for silly games. I need to—"

She teetered again in her heels. Peter caught her and pulled her into a tight hug. He smelled sweat and perfume, but underneath that, she was still his Susan, and even with her stupid heels, her head fit easily between his chin and collarbone.

He would have time later, but only a little, to think about his next action, and wonder at it. After his death, he would forget – at least until he stood in Aslan's garden, looking out across all the worlds and all time. Then it would come to him as the memory of a dream, hard to hold in his mind.

And later, after the accident at the station, while she was numbly reorganizing her wardrobe because she didn't know what else to do now that her family was all gone, in the dress she'd worn to Mavis Dunham's silly party, Susan would find a pair of rings, one green and one yellow, folded in a handkerchief.

They would be crusted with dirt, as if they'd lain in the ground a long time. Her instinct would be to rub them clean, but she'd remember something Professor Kirke told her and her brothers and sister many years ago, about his own first trip to Narnia.

"Silly games," she'd sniff with a toss of her hair. Nevertheless, she'd be careful not to touch the rings as she refolded the handkerchief.

11/09/08


End file.
